


Rain on a Sunny Day

by Esteliel



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Magic Rain Clouds, Rain Sex, Yuleporn, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nightingale summoned the rain cloud to follow his apprentice around the house, he didn't realize how distracting Peter would be in wet clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain on a Sunny Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



> Thank you so much to Brigdh for beta-reading this! :)

At first it was sort of amusing. This was straight out of Harry Potter: my own personal raincloud following me around the Folly while I tried to keep a step ahead, and while Nightingale watched me and tried not to laugh too much. For moment, I could imagine him with his friends in those long hallways of Casterbrook, as happy and carefree as the kids in the Harry Potter movies.

Of course it stopped being amusing after a while, because even the gentle English summer rain can be bloody annoying if it follows you around inside wherever you go. At least I wouldn't have to mop the floor afterwards, but I could all too well imagine what look Molly was going to give me. 

When I circled the room for the tenth time, I gave Nightingale a grumpy look. He looked back with perfect, unimpressed indifference, but after a moment I saw how his lips twitched. That's it, I told myself. If Nightingale actually started laughing at me, I would...

Well. What could I do? I might be the last apprentice wizard of Britain, but he was the last British wizard. It's not as if my little _Lux_ would impress Thomas 'So sorry about your tiger tank' Nightingale. Although, if I managed to change the formae enough to produce a realistic magical impression of a disco ball, he might just get annoyed enough to–

I lost my train of thought when I circled the room for the eleventh time, shivering a little now because the cloud had caught up with me just long enough that my shirt was thoroughly wet and sticking to my chest. Nightingale was giving me a strange look. Maybe he was feeling sorry for me.

Actually, despite how annoying it was to be forced to walk through the Folly soaked to the bone, it was still good to see him loosen up enough to play a magical joke on me. I never really saw him relax, unless it was with one of the rugby matches he liked to watch, and even for those I imagined that he just settled quietly into my tech cave with his bottle of beer and watched in silence. I should have made more of an effort to join him for those, though it was sort of awkward to watch sports with a senior officer on your own sofa. I liked the man, admired him even, and I trusted him with my life, but he was still my superior. One of us always seemed out of place, the few times we had ended up together in front of my flat-screen TV.

I looked at Nightingale again, just in time to see him watch me with a strange intensity. I wasn't quite sure what it was. He kept staring at me as though he was trying to figure out if Molly would manage to salvage my clothes, or as if he wondered if I would drip water all over some precious, rare tome if I left the room without stripping out of my wet clothes, or if–

Nightingale's eyes met mine. They seemed to widen for a moment, and there was a hint of something. I thought he was embarrassed, maybe. Had I been expected to figure out how to defend myself against the cloud?

And then I saw his eyes were drawn back down my body, lingering on my chest for just one heartbeat too long, and all I could think was, _oh._

Oh!

Nightingale had been checking me out.

Well, fuck me. Of course he was a handsome guy, and my crush on him might have been just a little bit more than the average hero-worship, but we were talking about someone who was a master wizard and immortal for all that we knew, and who shot holes into tanks with his fireballs for entertainment, and – and who was also damn handsome, my mind supplied again. For a moment, my own eyes lingered on the way his throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes just a little too wide, his heartbeat probably just a little too fast. If he were a suspect, I'd have known to question him after this display.

As he was my governor, well. Not much I could do, was there? So I started my twelfth round around the room, and this time I walked slowly enough to let the cloud catch up with me every now and then, aware this time of the weight of his eyes on me, drawn back again and again by the way the wet shirt clung to my body. My jeans were getting uncomfortably wet too, and something about his eyes on me was just exciting enough, despite how weird it was, that I realized with a sudden start that by my thirteenth round, I might have to excuse myself, or give him a bit more of a view than he had bargained for.

Well. This was unexpected, and I wasn't quite certain what to think – and then I realized that even though I didn't know what to think, I had stopped again to pretend that I was thinking. The cloud had caught up with me once more, and even though the water wasn't cold, it turned a bit chilly if I didn't keep moving. I looked up just in time to catch Nightingale looking at me again, and this time he couldn't stop the amused sound.

“Are you sniggering at me, sir?” I asked, and he raised his brow.

“Are you insinuating that I am the sort of person who would snigger?” he said, and the corners of his mouth kept twitching upwards as he watched my trek around the room, looking, for all I knew, like an especially large, drowned rat.

“You should have told me that you were taught by the Weasley twins,” I muttered as I dodged left before my little rain cloud could contentedly settle over my head once more. Despite the unexpected realization that my governor thought I was hot – which, truth be told, _was_ rather flattering – I was starting to get a little cross, because my jeans chafed and water had run into my shoes and I was just starting to feel chilled and uncomfortable enough that amusement was changing to annoyance.

Again Nightingale gave me one of his rare smiles. “Is that Doctor Who again?” he asked, and I pressed my lips together in determination. Then, before he could escape or throw up a shield or do whatever a wizard who shoots holes into a tiger tank can do to his sopping wet apprentice, I tackled him and wrapped my arms around him to make sure that his lovely, charcoal-grey suit would turn just as miserably damp as my own clothes. It took only a heartbeat for the cloud to catch up with my sudden change in direction, and another heartbeat before I realized just what I had done.

Tackling your governor in good fun when you were both joking around like schoolboys was one thing.

Wrapping your arms around your governor so tightly that you could feel his heartbeat against your chest and his breath on your face and see how his eyes widened, and how he swallowed, and feel the warmth of his body through the soaked fabric of your clothes so that it felt as if you were pressing yourself against him naked... That was quite a different thing, as I found out to my utter mortification a second later when I realized that I was getting an erection.

The cloud was still hovering over us, and tiny drops of moisture sparkled on his lashes as he looked at me. His hair was damp, sparkling like those spider webs on autumn mornings when you get up early enough to see the dew on them in the first rays of the sun. I could feel every panicked beat of his heart, the way his eyes were dilated and dark as he stared at me, shocked – and perhaps, I thought as my erection pressed against his thigh, perhaps not entirely displeased.

Maybe I should apologize. If I wouldn't, certainly he would, and that would be wrong. After all, he was the one who’d come over to check me out, that first time we met. I've known from the beginning that I was his type, and yet he hadn't ever been anything but perfectly professional. And now I was the one who had turned this into something else. Even now, I knew Nightingale would allow me to simply step back, walk to my rooms, and pretend that this had never happened. 

I could do that. But Nightingale was pressed against me, warm against my skin in our very personal own British summer rain. I felt the scent and the presence of Nightingale wash over me in a sudden wave of _something_ that wasn't quite _vestigium_ but perhaps simply my body's heightened awareness of him as someone I wanted to strip and touch and fuck on my bed or maybe right here against the wall. What I realized in that moment was that I did not want this to stop. I couldn't return to my room and pretend this had never happened. Not when his lips were wet, and his eyes were wide, and his face was very, very serious, and strangely open.

That was the thing. He had never opened himself to me like this before. He wasn't doing anything – but he also wasn't stepping back to end this. He probably wouldn't step back even if I decided to kiss him, and then I tried to put that thought to the test.

It was a successful experiment, as experiments go, although my old science teacher wouldn't have approved of my methods. Maybe that's why I didn't make it to uni, but in that moment when our lips touched, when I felt him exhale against my mouth as if he had suddenly dropped his last defences, and then kissed me back, tentatively, making me moan in a way a first kiss hadn't made me moan since Eva in sixth form, in that moment I didn't care about anything but him.

My fingers slid into his hair. It was soft, and damp, and I kept touching it, slicking it back with my fingers as I moaned into his mouth. Perhaps it should have felt weird, to kiss a bloke, but what little thought remained to me in that moment was all focused on the way it made my stomach flutter when my tongue touched his, and the way his thigh made my cock ache with need when I pressed myself against him, and how warm he was, and how good it would feel to get him out of that suit so I could feel his skin slick and wet against my own.

When our lips finally parted so that we could gasp for breath, I was desperate enough for him that I panted against his cheek and pushed my erection against his thigh once more with perfect disregard of the fact that this was my governor, and that I was his wizard apprentice. All that mattered at that moment was that his lips parted for me again with a soft groan, and that he kissed me back with the same desperation.

I couldn’t even say how long we stood there, kissing with the single-minded focus of teenagers while his rain cloud continued to drizzle down on us. By now I really didn't mind anymore, because now his suit was wet, too, and I could pull his shirt free and push my hands beneath it and feel the frantic heartbeat beneath the warm skin.

“Peter,” Nightingale gasped at last when we managed to part for a moment. I'd never heard him sound like that: desperate, with more than just a slight tremor in his voice, when he had never lost his composure before. It made me want to dive right back in and kiss him until he couldn't talk anymore. 

Then he shifted a little, still panting, still beautifully dishevelled and wet and desperate – and I could feel just how desperate he was when I felt the hard bulge beneath the suit trousers that clung tightly to his skin now. When I looked down, I could see just how much. The wet fabric outlined his hard cock almost obscenely, and suddenly I felt a hint of nerves again. I still wanted to get my hands on him more than anything, but, well. It gave me a moment's pause, mostly because it was so different. Not that I didn't know what to do with it – I might have no experience with his cock, but I was ready to wager that he wouldn't mind if I touched his the way I touched mine. It just took me a moment to let my mind catch up with what my body was doing. 

Again I looked at Nightingale. His lips were still wet, although not from the rain that fell gently all around us. I pressed my hand to his cheek, felt the chill of the water, the heat of his skin, then trailed my fingers through his hair. It was an old-fashioned cut, which I’d thought suited him from the moment I first saw him, but now I approved of it all the more, because it meant I could run my finger through his wet hair, brush a strand away from his face – or tighten my fingers in his hair as he sucked–

Well. The thought was not without merit, and I swallowed as my hips pressed against his body with renewed need at the image. It wasn't like I could just ask Nightingale to go to his knees and suck me off – or could I? I entertained the thought for a fraction of a heartbeat. 

No. No, this was still Nightingale, and as much as my cock wanted to be sucked, or touched, or just to get any attention at all, the thought of looking into DCI Thomas Nightingale's eyes while asking him to please suck my cock, sir – well, you can see why that posed a small problem.

Fortunately for me, Nightingale seemed to have realized as well that the situation called for action without words, and while I was still distracted by thoughts of how I definitely should not be thinking of that warm, soft mouth wrapped around my cock, Nightingale had gone all quiet, and then sunk to his knees.

 _Oh_ , my brain supplied again.

I could see Nightingale's throat working, and he licked his lips. One hand rested lightly against my thigh. We both stared at the rather obvious bulge where my erection pressed against the wet jeans. Nightingale swallowed, then looked up. His eyes were still so open, and there was an uncertainty in them that I had never seen before.

“Do you mind if I–” he asked thickly, and nodded at my cock. I didn't know whether to laugh at his absurd politeness, or groan with renewed need at the sight of his face so close to where I really, really wanted it right now.

I nodded as well, so quickly that I had the pleasure of seeing another faint smile appear on his lips, and then the hesitancy made way for that look of quiet focus that was so familiar, and yet so new and strange with him on his knees.

He unzipped my jeans – easily enough that I wondered whether he had used magic to assist him – and then freed my cock, and I stopped caring. I was damp from the rain water that had soaked through my jeans, and his fingers were wet as well and a little chilly, but he lost no time. I wasn't sure what I had expected; I really hadn't spent much time thinking about what sort of lover Nightingale would be. Apart from that one night when I had one beer too many after a gruesome murder scene. But mostly I really hadn't thought about what my governor would be like in bed. If I had, I probably would have gone with romantic. Old-fashioned and attentive. I don't know, maybe a little distant, like the folks in an Austen movie on TV. 

But once Nightingale had made up his mind about this, he swallowed me down with eager hunger. I groaned as sucked me into his mouth and tried to keep back a surprised cry, because fuck me if I would let Molly interfere with this. His hands were resting very lightly on my thighs, shaking a little, and that was the only hint I had that the situation was as unsettling for him as it was for me. I hoped it was also as good as it was for me, but he'd been the one to go to his knees and offer, so I had nothing to feel guilty about. And then I didn't really think of much for a long moment, except for how hot his tongue was, and fuck, how eager his mouth was, and that I really really shouldn't do this here near the atrium with my governor, and all the while I knew that there was no way I could stop, not even if DCI Seawoll appeared in the door frame right this very second.

All right, that was a sobering thought. To escape it I looked down, barely able to bite back a curse at the sight of Nightingale's cheeks hollowing as he sucked me as if that was the most natural thing in the world. I couldn't help myself; I had to reach down, smooth my fingers along his cheek – fuck, I thought again, I could feel the way he sucked me, and that was – that was my cock in the mouth of Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale, that was my cock that those lips were spread open by, gleaming with his own spit, and I thought of kissing him after this, feeling his lips warm and swollen from this, and– 

I should have warned him, but the thought was too much. “Sir!” I gasped, and then I came, pretty much blacking out for a moment when pleasure took over and I spilled myself down his throat.

“Fuck,” I said a moment later, when I could speak again and watched Nightingale draw back. “I, uh... sorry, sir.”

Nightingale looked up at me, and _swallowed_ , and that right there was proof that he could be perfectly devious when he wanted to. I groaned a little, and my already softening cock gave a painful little twitch at the sight. I very nearly whimpered, and then he gave me another smile – three in one night, I thought, wasn't I lucky, my mind still somewhat reeling from events.

He stood, still smiling. I took hold of his jacket to pull him close, laughing against his lips at the sheer absurdity of the situation as the rain continued to gently fall.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Nightingale's voice was still a little rough. I smoothed my fingers down his cheeks again, felt the warmth of his skin, the wetness of the rain, and thought again of how he had looked with my cock in his mouth. I couldn't believe it, even though it had happened only moments ago. Nightingale had really – I groaned against his mouth, then kissed him, and yeah, he really really had sucked my cock. I could taste myself in his mouth, and something about the thought of that was so hot that it probably wouldn't take much more than another few minutes of this to get my body ready for a repeat.

But first I wanted something else. Nightingale was still hard as well, very hot and real against my thigh, and I pulled on his jacket to turn us around and press him against the wall with enough force to surprise him. Not that he was displeased; his hands came up to cradle my head and keep me close as we kissed hungrily, and then I pushed my hand impatiently into his trousers, and he broke the kiss with a gasp.

“Peter!” he said, his eyes wild. “It is quite all right, there is no need to–”

“But I want to,” I said and grinned as I wrapped my fingers around his cock. “Sir.”

If he wanted to protest more, the words died on his tongue. All that came out was a strangled moan as I tentatively began to stroke him. It was not so different from touching myself, really; much better than touching myself, in fact, because I had not thought that I would ever hear Nightingale make sounds like that: soft gasps, once something very close to a whimper when I rubbed my thumb over the head where he was wet and slick from more than the rain water. Every now and then, I leaned in to kiss his moans from him, but in truth it was far more arousing to watch him fall apart in front of me. Not because he was a senior officer. Not because he was always so tightly controlled, a paragon of repression – but because he trusted me enough to allow me to learn how to unravel him, how to take his control away from him with stroke after stroke, until his lashes clung together, glistening with raindrops, and his breath hitched and his hips jerked uncontrollably, thrusting into the grip of my hand with desperate, overwhelmed need. For a moment I wondered how long it had been and, if he really picked up younger men on the streets, how many of those had been allowed to see him like this.

Then I realized with surprise that this was jealousy. I hadn't been jealous when it came to sharing his lessons with Lesley. But the heat of his skin and the taste of his mouth and the unguarded, helpless desperation from this man – I didn't ever want to share that.

“Are you sure there is no need to, sir?” I was teasing now; I knew there was no way he could say no to this, not when he wanted this as badly as I did.

“Don't call me that,” he gasped. His voice was still a little hoarse, and his eyes wide and dark. His hand curved lightly against my nape. I could feel his fast heartbeat, the heat of his breath against my lips, the sensation of fingertips chasing the rivulets of water that ran down my neck. “Not like this.”

“You aren't really in a position to make demands.” I tugged hard on his cock and grinned when that made him tense all over and bite his lips. “Sir.”

“Peter–” I don't know what he wanted to say; there was a sudden rush of wetness and heat and, yes, that was a little weird now, to have another guy come all over my hand. But also insanely hot. Fuck, I thought again as I looked at his swollen, dark lips, I really, really was heads over heels in lust with DCI Thomas Nightingale. In love. Maybe. A little. More than a little. 

The teasing would never stop once Lesley found out.

I leaned in to kiss him again until my brain stopped with the thinking thing. There was a time for thinking, and it wasn't when you had Thomas Nightingale, last wizard of Britain and definitely the hottest living wizard of the Metropolitan Police, flushed and undone against a wall.

“But if you want to be Thomas,” I murmured, feeling a sudden, strange warmth spread within me, “we can talk about that later. In my bed. Or yours. If you like. Sir.”

He didn't answer, but he stroked my nape and my face with gentle, wet fingers. It took me quite a long time to realize that the rain had miraculously turned pleasantly warm as we kept kissing each other until we were dripping wet, and still unable to keep our hands from each other for long enough to make it upstairs.


End file.
